A Clash with Reality
by AllByMyLonesome
Summary: She's falling for him. Hard. Yet why is it that he reminds her so of her eternal crush back home? Coincidence? I think not. Short drabble with mild kiss scene. Feel-good story. A product of my daydreams.


Short story I wrote last night, after a poke in the right direction from my personal muse. Her name is Ebony and she lives in my head. She can get rather annoying at times, but don't tell her I said that! *glances around nervously* Rated "T" just to be on the safe side. R&R, that is, if you get to the bottom. This is my first story I've published, and I would love some input! Thinking about expanding it...if you get to the end, you'll see why, but I won't unless I get some definite interest. Hope you all like it!

Amelia's POV

He stood there, looking down at me with those warm chocolate eyes of his. I gazed up at him from by perch on the fountain railing. He had the most peculiar look on his face. I just had to know what was bothering him. "What is it?" I asked.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his eyes never straying from mine.

I paused. Did I want this Frenchman to kiss me? Sure, he was handsome, and it would be awfully romantic. How many people can boast of an equal first kiss? Not many. I was almost tempted to kiss him just for that. However, every sensible part of me was screaming "NO!" What if he wanted more than a kiss? I wasn't going to up to his flat with him, no way, no how. And yet I was torn. I had only known the man a couple of days, but I felt attached to him. Like I'd known him forever. There was something between us, some indescribable chemistry which was pulling us together. And those eyes. Who could argue with those eyes? So deep and compelling, I was on the verge of saying yes. But did I trust him? No. And therein lay the problem. I was a logical girl. I rarely acted on gut instinct. So why was I leaning towards him, a physical invitation? Because he attracted me. I couldn't explain it. It was like that inexplicable attraction between opposing ends of a magnet. One minute they are separate entities, totally individual and solitary. And the next? Wham. Together. Inseparable. I made up my mind.

"Yes," I murmured, and then continued before he jumped to any conclusions, "But only once, and nothing more, or you'll be sorry."

He chuckled, lifting his hand to the side of my face. It felt incredibly warm and smooth, like satin. And even better? It was dry. Not a speck of sweat. Not clammy like so many other boys' hands I'd touched.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" He asked, a small grin on his lips.

I hesitated. Stalled. However you want to say it. "Yeess…" I drew it out, my indecision plain in my voice.

He gave a full throated laugh that sounded vaguely familiar. Now why did I just think that? Hmm.

He grew serious again. "Just not enough," he responded, as though finishing my sentence. "This is your first, right?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, completely lost in his dark brown eyes. "Hmm?"

"Your first kiss," he clarified, with a question in his voice. I fought to regain my focus.

"yes…wait, how do you know that?" I was now thoroughly perplexed.

He smiled, his lips parting over a set of perfectly white teeth. "You just have that look on your face, like 'this had better be the best damn kiss, or you'll pay for it.'" He chuckled, and I joined in with him.

"Yeah," I said, "something along those lines." He smiled, his laugh petering out. His fingertips traced the bottom of my jaw, sending shivers up my spine. With a gentle pressure on my chin, he tilted my face up towards his. He stepped closer to me, his free hand coming up on my waist, balancing me on the narrow rail. His face came closer, and my eyes shut of their own accord. With agonizing slowness, his breath tickled my face just before his lips brushed mine, sending my mind reeling. Had I been standing, I would have definitely stumbled. Even so, I wobbled on the metal rail, before his hand on my waist steadied me. It was like being electrocuted. All the energy and sparks without the crippling pain. He leaned into the kiss, and I could feel the static building in our simple connection. The kiss seemed to last a lifetime. Finally, he gently pulled away, letting his forehead rest on mine. We stayed like that for what seemed like ages, not wanting to move. Gently, he kissed me again, sending sparks coursing through my body. We pulled apart, and my eyes slowly opened, meeting with his, mirroring my smiling, yet shocked, expression.

"Well that was a surprise," He said, as our hearts gradually slowed.

"Yeah…" I agreed, before what he had said fully hit me. I pulled away from him, nearly landing in the fountain as a result. He pulled me back towards him, away from the water and concrete directly behind me. I hopped down off the rail and stepped away from him. His eyes showed shock and confusion before switching to understanding, frustration, anger and copious amounts of sorrow. It wasn't so much what he said, but how he said it. All presence of his thick French accent was gone, and he spoke with a strong American accent that I knew only too well.

"Shit." His hand covered his face and he looked down at his feet. I was confused and scared. I started noticing things: the deep brown of his eyes, the slender, almost skinny, contours of his torso, his hands, as they gripped the railing for support. His laugh, which had seemed so familiar to me finally started to register. I _knew_ this man. No, this _boy_. And yet I didn't. The boy I knew had light brown hair, not the intense black hair of this man. And he had a good layer of scruff covering his cheeks and neck, for crying out loud! The boy I knew barely had to shave! No, it couldn't be him. It was impossible. I knew for a fact that my friend was with his _girlfriend,_ my best friend, in Maryland, not in Paris of all places! Jacques, for I heartily hoped it was Jacques, the Frenchman I had met only a couple days ago, and not Neil, my friend from back home.

He took his hand from in front of his eyes, and caught my gaze again. "Mia. I'm so sorry." He had abandoned his French accent. I was starting to worry. Really worry. "This was wrong, and I'm really, really sorry. You'll probably hate me after this, but I can't help it." And he spanned the distance between us in a single stride. One hand came up behind my back, the other behind my head, and he kissed me again. It wasn't like the first time, so gentle, almost as if I was fragile and he was scared of breaking me. No, this time his lips crushed against mine, and I felt something swell in my chest, a funny sort of longing. It tickled its way through me and when we finally broke apart, my breath caught in my throat. An expression of pain crossed his handsome face, and he stepped away from me, turning so his face was hidden. I watched as his hand came up to his face, and his breathing came in quick pants as he pulled something painfully from his face. A gasp escaped him, and I heard a faint "ow." Finally, he reached up to his head and tore at his hair. My breath lurched in my throat, only to be sucked back in as his dark, curly black hair came away from his head, revealing close-cropped light brown hair underneath. I stopped breathing. He slowly turned to face me, and I staggered away in shock. "Neil," I breathed, as I studied his face. His cheeks were a little red from where he had yanked off the beard, and his eyes were over bright and glistening, as he returned my gaze. _No, no, no!_ I wanted to scream. This was not the way it was supposed to work. _It can't be!_ How could I have been such an idiot? I had known him for five years, and loved him for three of them. That is, until I was forced to get over him when he asked my best friend out. How could I not have recognized him? _But you did, stupid_, I screamed at myself, _you just didn't want to listen!_ Slowly, the shock I felt left my body, only to be replaced with a numbing rage. _Why did you do it? _I wanted to yell at him. Finally I did, letting all my pain and hurt, sorrow and anger come into my voice. He shook his head, a helpless expression on his face. It was all I could do not to strangle him then and there. Instead, I shouted at him.

"Nathaniel Brown!" My entire frame shuddered as I yelled his name. "Why? What have you done?" Without waiting for an answer, I turned and started to run in the opposite direction. His hand on my arm stopped me, if only briefly.

"What have I done, exactly?" He said softly. He always had a knack for picking up on things you were trying your best to hide.

"You kissed me!" I responded. And then finally letting it all out, "You…you made me fall in love with you all over again!" and with a sob, I wrenched from his grip and ran out of the deserted park.

Nathaniel's POV

I gazed down at where she sat on the slim railing of the fountain, eyeing me suspiciously. _It's now or never, Neil._ I didn't get very far. Somehow, unfathomably, I just couldn't convince myself to kiss my girlfriend's best friend. I could say it was simply an experiment, to see if she still liked me after all the years, but after spending a week in her company, taking her around Paris, showing her all the places I had come to love in my month long exchange program this summer, I had come to really enjoy being in her presence. Ok, that was a bit of an understatement. Seeing her made my day. I always looked forward to when I could meet her at our fountain before setting off. She was ignorant to my true identity, having concealed myself under the pseudonym Jacques, a fake French accent, a wig, and a glue-on, and incredibly itchy beard to match. I must say, I couldn't even recognize myself, the disguise was that good. Yet I was still surprised when she didn't recognize me at all, treating me like a complete stranger, so much more open and care-free than I was used to. So I loved being around her. She made me laugh, a relief after getting my braces off, and made me feel, well, more alive. Corny, I know, but true. She was so real to me: so predictable and yet full of surprises. I brought my thoughts back to the present, focusing on my task: to kiss Mia. It would be hard, knowing I was doing something so wrong, and yet wanting to so badly. If I did, I would never be able to reveal myself as Neil. I would always be Jacques to her, the Frenchman she met in Paris who gave her her first kiss. If I didn't, I could reveal myself to her, but I would never know what it would be like. Curiosity versus perpetual anonymity. I chewed at my lip, debating my options. Could I bear hearing her talk to her friends about her first kiss, stunning them at her daring to kiss a complete stranger, without being able to tell them it was actually me? Ugh! Choices, choices. I bit my lip again. This time she noticed.

"What is it?" she asks, a question in her eyes. I made up my mind then and there.

"Can I kiss you?" I asked. The question hung in the air, and I felt my heart-rate skyrocket. She leaned forward. I waited on the edge of my seat, if that saying could be applicable. Yet the silence lingered in the air, and I realized she's trying her best to say no nicely. I was about to tell her to forget it and apologize, when she answered me.

"Yes," she responded, almost as a question. Quickly, she continued, eyes darting to mine, daring me to interrupt her. I didn't. I wouldn't have, _couldn't _have. Ever. I wanted to hear her voice too badly. "But only once, and nothing more or you'll be sorry." She finished, eyes searching my face, trying to discover my reaction. I felt a chuckle escape my lips. _She thinks I'm a scoundrel_, I realized with a grin. Steeling myself, I reached up cupping her face in my hand, feeling the softness of her cheek. _This feels so _right_,_ I thought, and I responded, with a small smile, to her ultimatum.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" Again, I waited for an eternity before her hesitant answer passed across her lips.

"Yeess…"

I laughed out loud at her indecisive answer. She can be so adorable when she is unsure. Confusion flittered across her face, but I was still confident. My grin faded, and I finished her sentence, "Just not enough." I changed the topic. "This is your first, right?" she stared into my eyes, hers seeming to lose focus of everything around us. I had to breathe deeply to keep a logical train of thoughts running through my head.

"Hmm?" her voice just as distracted as her eyes. I couldn't stand it. She sounded so sweet when she was distracted. All right, she always sounded sweet, but particularly so only a foot away with my hand on her cheek. She looked so perfect and innocent that it was all I could do to not force myself on her then and there. I need to refocus. It was never this hard with Cassandra. Oops. I promised I wouldn't think about her this week. Shit. Focus, Neil! "Your first kiss?"

"Yes…wait, how do you know that?" she looked shocked. Oops. I wasn't supposed to know that. Ok. Backtrack. Smile. How to fix this? Hmm. When in doubt, refer to their facial expressions. Girls always reveal way to much than they intend too. "You just have that look on your face, like 'this had better be the best damn kiss, or you'll pay for it.'" I chuckled for effect, and she took the bait, laughing along with me. He eyes started to lose focus again.

"Yeah," she murmured, "something along those lines." I smiled. I lost my train of thought as I slowly bent towards her. I traced my fingertips along the underside of her jaw, and she shivered delicately. I smiled on the inside. With a gentle pressure from my fingertips, I tilted her face up towards mine, stepping closer to her. I realized that I should probably steady her on the rail. It was skinny, and if her reaction was anything like Cassandra's—shit, I did it again. Oh well, may as well finish the thought. If her reaction was anything like Cassandra's she would completely lose her balance. The hand that wasn't cupping her face came up around her slender waist, and it was all I could do not to clutch at the fabric there. Inches away from her face, with my body pressed up against her, I slowly bowed my head and brushed her lips with mine. I meant to back off and gauge her reaction, but the electric current that suddenly shocked me kept my lips imprisoned on hers, softly pressing against their silky texture. Rational thought escaping me, I pressed more firmly against her lips, and the current between us spiked. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was wonderful and exciting, and absolutely perfect. The sparks faded as I slowly, reluctantly pulled away, resting my forehead against hers. I was right. She was absolutely perfect. Whatever had just happened between us was amazing and essential to my existence. Just as a flower needs the sun to survive, I needed Mia. I thought back to Cassandra as I stood there resting against Mia, perfectly happy. With Cassie, there were never any sparks, no magical electrical current. How could I go back to that, after feeling this, this perfection? And somehow, Mia had seen it all along. All those years before, when she cared for me so much and I laughed and dated her best friend. Ugh. What a bastard I was. Not that I had any idea it would be this perfect. Having nothing to compare with, Cassie seemed perfection. As I felt Mia's sweet breath on my face, her forehead resting against mine, I knew I had to make this work somehow. I captured her lips once more, and the sparks leaped from the connection, speeding through my body like brilliant, beautiful spears of fire. I slowly pulled away, opening my eyes, ever shocked at the impact she had on me, yet smiling none the less. Her eyes slowly opened, and her expression was priceless. Such a perfect combination of surprise and happiness that my smile grew wider. "Well that was a surprise," I said aloud, as if that even began to cover it.

"Yeah…" she replied, grinning. Suddenly, that grin turned to surprise then horror and I realized my mistake. In my bliss I had forgotten my French accent. And she had noticed.

"Shit!" I said aloud, and then silently, _shit shit shit!_ How could I be so stupid? She pulled away from me, forgetting her perch on the rail. My hand tightened on her waist pulling her back from the fountain behind her. She slipped down to the ground and backed away, looking for all the world like a spooked horse. She stared at me, taking me in, looking at me with different eyes. Accusing eyes. I lift a hand to my face, covering what I didn't want her to see. My plan to remain anonymous was shattered. She knew. How did I ever plan to pull this off? She would hate me forever! _Damn it!_ There was only one thing left to do. Well, actually two things. No, three, come to think of it. I abandoned my French accent, knowing it couldn't help me anymore.

First, I took my hand away from my face and caught her eye. "Mia. I'm so sorry. This was wrong, and I'm really, really sorry. You'll probably hate me after this, but I can't help it." Second, I crossed the distance between us in a single stride. One hand lifted up behind her back, the other behind her head, and I kissed her. Hard. It wasn't like the first time, when I had been so scared of breaking her. No, this time my lips crushed against hers, trying to cram into it everything I longed for and couldn't have, everything I felt for her but shouldn't, everything I needed from her but should never have asked for. I pulled away from her, and heard her breath catch in her throat. She looked so vulnerable that I hated myself. I felt like a dagger had stabbed through my ribcage and out the other side. I turned away from her, and reached up to my face, finding the tab under my right ear where I could grip to pull the itchy faux-beard off. It wass like tape: the faster you rip, the less painful it would be. At least, that was the general idea. I pulled swiftly and the beard came off in my hand. My face stung brutally, and a single "ow" escaped my lips. My hand brushed the side of my burning face on its way up to remove the wig. That at least wouldn't hurt. Well, physically. I knew she'd recognize me now that my entire disguise was gone, and that hurt. Inside. I squeezed my eyes tight together, then forced them open and turned slowly to face her. She staggered away from me, staring. Her eyes take in my searing cheeks, and I imagined her disgust at me. My infidelity to Cassie, her best friend. How she must have hated me. My eyes filled at the thought as I gaze at her. I couldn't even begin to decipher her expression. She looked shocked, hurt, horrified, and…disappointed. That last was the hardest to witness.

"Why did you do it?" Her voice clawed its way through my innards, a searing path that left scars in its wake. I couldn't make my voice work. So I shook my head in response, all hope for our relationship gone in those five words.

"Nathaniel Brown!" She shouted my name at me, her entire frame shuddering with anger. "Why? What have you done?" It was a rhetorical question. She turned and began to storm away. Something in what she said made me catch her arm, stopping her flight. I wasn't sure what made me stop her. Maybe it was her strange wording. 'Why'd you do it' seemed so much more logical than 'what have you done.'

Whatever the reason, I snagged her arm, asking softly, "What have I done, exactly?"

She spluttered, responding, "You kissed me!" I waited, she seemed like she was choking on something she didn't want to say. Finally it came out: "You…you made me fall in love with you all over again!" My shock loosened my grip on her arm, and she yanked away with a sob. I was on a euphoric high. _She loves me!_ I wanted to shout it to the world. Her surprise and hurt at seeing me was a product of shame. She was in love with me against her own will! This might just work out after all, I thought, and turning towards the road where she had disappeared to, I began to sprint after her.

What do you think? I know it's a cliffhanger, but if there's interest, I'll continue it...that is, if Ebony is doing her job… please R&R! I don't mind constructive criticism, but no flames please. my self confidence is pretty low as is.


End file.
